Conditioning
by Viridescent
Summary: Fear is a strong motivator. Loyalty is a stronger one. What spells did the Dark Lord weave to earn the unwavering loyalty of his most fanatical, enduring servant?
1. Chapter 1

A/N: So this is my first attempt in _years_ to write fanfiction, and my first ever attempt at Harry Potter. I'm doing this because of.. I dunno why. To examine TMR and his relationship with Bellatrix. I know that, logically, by the time Bella is in school, Tom has become Lord Voldemort... but I feel the need to differentiate. By this point he has a number of horcruxes under is belt, but he's not completely become LV. It's personal choice in the character tags I've given this story, and I claim a level of freedom in fiction for the purposes of examining this dynamic.

As with all people posting here, reviews are appreciated and will be lovingly read.

Also **DISCLAIMER:** This will be the only one I will post for the story. I own nothing, no characters, no locations, no nothing. All belongs to JKRowling, Warner Bros. and any other affiliates that I cannot think of right now. All that I own is my original ideas which do not appear in the original series.

* * *

On one of the low stone walls that stretched along the vast acres of grounds around the ancient castle, a figure sat, crouched over, staring out over the dark waters. The silhouette was obviously female, the long dark hair and curves a dead give-away for the more intelligent to happen upon the still figure.

In the early morning light, which trickled slowly over the horizon, bathing the wall, girl and lake, in a warm glow of promise, the waters were silent and unmoving, save for the gentle beaching of water upon the pebbled shore. The lack of birds at this early hour gave away the season of winter. Or it would, if the still, cold air hadn't already done so. There was no trace of life, only the slow and steady stream of smoke rising from the chimneys of the castle.

Other than the birds, everything was unmoving and silent. Even the female had begun to appear as nothing more than a statue of sorts, over-looking the water as still as the stone that formed the wall upon which she was resting. Only her sodden ebony locks and loosely fastened cloak gave away her true nature, gracefully blowing slightly with the steady, crisp wind, flying from her body.

Surprisingly, however, the figure stirred. The wind shifted to push her hair away from her face, revealing a sight that was far from comforting. It might have been the light from the dull sky, or the dark and colourless clothing, but the woman's pale complexion, though flawless, was a sickly pallor, her high cheek bones accentuating the gaunt expression in her heavily-lidded eyes.

She was not pretty, the hardness in her eyes leaving no room for such a description. Nor was she necessarily beautiful. Something about her gaze, her expression, the way she held herself... it was simply too unyielding, too cold. There was the perfect adjective: cold. Everything about the woman radiated coldness.

Her gaze shifted as she heard the sleepy movements of a gargantuan man leaving his hut, like clockwork every morning. The harsh sound of metal on metal reached her ears as the man fumbled with the iron catch lock on his door before continuing on his way. She watched him steadily, the silence of the dawn allowing the wind to carry the sound of the irregular splash punctuating his slow, heavy footfalls every few paces as he does nothing to avoid the minefield of puddles that follow the nights of rain, so quintessential to wintery Britain.

The man did not look up, didn't look around to see the young woman. Nor did she expect him to. As usual his shoulders were hunched, his head bowed and his knuckles decidedly white from his grip around his axe. The look was commonplace around the castle; a defeated mind-set that had spread like wildfire through the wizarding world in the years of war.

A soft sigh escaped her lips at the knowledge that, soon, she would have to vacate her habitual night time haunt. With day break, the school would once again be bustling and, however much the rumours amused her, the repetitiveness was beginning to put a strain upon her already exceedingly limited patience. Rumours that, if true, made the school's students very wise in avoiding her.

The girl's eyes lingered on the forest pathway down which the man had turned. Though her chiselled features appeared to be void of any emotion, her eyes, chasms of life that they were, twinkled in the growing light. To anyone who ventured close enough, the dark orbs would have shown a severe, haunting depth beyond the female's years. It was this that implied something distinctively wild about her gaze, as if bound, only barely contained, and desperate to be set free.

Though maybe not beautiful, she was alluring to a fault, something that provoked longing as well as fear in those who gazed upon her. As if, when watching a tiger pace in its cage, one desperately wishes to reach through the bars and stroke the beast's luxurious coat. But instinct would tell them no, and instinct would save their lives.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: So.. yeah it's gonna take a bit of time to get to the fun stuff, and until that point you might be bored, I'm gonna be bored.. and my writing might suffer. But I cannot **wait** to get to some nitty-gritty Voldy stuff. Got pretty excited at the prospect of this new thing for me so I wrote another chapter. Instead of sleeping. Which probably means it's even worse than I think it is. Also... not gonna lie, struggling a but with this formatting thing, but not keep on uploading documents as something always goes wrong for me. Sorry.

* * *

Bellatrix started at the rustle of leaves about her, and the droplets of rain, so cold, so fresh, that fell onto her already damp hair and filthy face. She hadn't realised that her small movements would create such a chain reaction. It was only that the muscles in her legs had begun to scream in protest at the lack of movement for the past few hours; she had been perching in a remarkably uncomfortable position for the better part of three hours and she could not hold it any longer.

If the young woman had been thinking clearly, she might have given herself a pat on the back. For anyone watching her, they would surely have considered her to be as one with the rock upon which she rested. However, the girl's thoughts were not on self-gratification or praise. With thoughts were so far from her own discomfort, the Slytherin thought only of her Yule holidays, which were spent in privilege and extravagance.

As always, the final-year student celebrated the winter with her family… though this year the circle had been extended for one night to include other acceptable acquaintances, and one whom she had only heard about. The rising Dark Lord. A hand comes up to wipe the newly fallen droplets of water from her face.

* * *

 _The evening had been an uneventful one so far, her only true companions being her betrothed: Rudolphus Lestrange, and his younger brother Rabastan, though even her fiancé had abandoned her. The young Malfoy heir was not abysmal company, she admitted, but her youngest sister had convinced him to play babysitter with her, for her parents had forbidden either of her small cousins to meet their esteemed guest, lest they embarrass the Black family._

 _One person whose company she would not tolerate, however, was that of her other sister, Andromeda, who cornered her as she and Rabastan nursed a glass of wine each, "Mother would not approve, Bella. I-"_

 _"Mother would not approve of many things," came the elder's mild reply, cutting her sister off before she could finish. Taking another sip of the wine, she cast her gaze over Andromeda, disgusted at how low her sister had fallen._

 _"I don't know, Bella. Perhaps the bumble bee has more value than we envisioned." Rabastan was a year below Bella and, thus, in that same year as her sister. His ties to both left him in a precarious position of knowing more than Bellatrix was comfortable with. "I might suggest that, upon our return to Hogwarts, we might… investigate his uses."_

 _Where the elder smiled, the younger sister bristled, understanding the threat, "Hufflepuffs are not useless!" she replied, her pitch rising in evident distress, which amused Rabastan but only infuriated her sister._

 _"It is not his House that concerns me, Andromeda," she practically hissed, careful that her parents' guests would not overhear the delicate subject matter. "The blood status is far more questionable. I would see you dead before subjecting our family to the humiliation of your fraternisation with that mudblood."_

 _"And this, My Lord, is my younger son, Rabastan." Andromeda's retort would never be heard, and she did not notice her slipping away as her attention turned instantly to that of the much anticipated guest being introduced by Veritas Lestrange. He was young, younger than her mother, and tall, with thick dark curls and dark eyes. High cheekbones and a sharp jawline framed his face, upon which rested a polite smile._

 _But, as he reached out to take her companion's hand in a firm shake, Bella noted that his gaze had barely flickered over Rabastan, and was instead intent upon her form. With barely concealed horror, she realised that he had overheard her previous words. "And my son's betrothed, Bellatrix Black."_

 _The smile didn't reach the man's eyes, though Bellatrix was not comforted by the expression, as she felt her blood run cold at the knowledge that judgement had been passed and her family's name was mere moments away from ruin. But the man said nothing, and her eyes narrowed at the glint that flew across his otherwise emotionless eyes. Releasing the boy's hand, he reached out and offered it to her. To her surprise, when she slipped his hand into hers, he tightened his grip and twisted her hand, bending forward at the same time to place a gentle kiss upon it. "A pleasure, Miss Black."_

* * *

' _She's ruined everything._ ' the young woman's ire was barely contained as she scraped her fingernails through the bark of the tree, which was pushing though the stone wall. So tight was her grip that it caused her skin to rip. Drops of blood trickled down her fingers and hand. In morbid fascination her attention left the lapping of the Black Lake's waters as she registered the dull pain, and her eyes flickered over to watch the bright crimson liquid make its slow way down her skin, navigating the contours of caked mud and sap that had been collecting.

Without considering it properly, she brought her fingers up to her mouth and, sticking out her tongue, collects the red liquid in her mouth. She winces, her face scrunching up in distaste at the metallic taste left on her tongue, yet she could not help the following smile of satisfaction that flew across her lips briefly as she realised that her mouth wasn't as dry as it was before. One more lick and the blood was gone, her hand returned to the branch.

She shifted one last time, resting her head against the tree trunk. The sleep deprivation was finally catching up on her. She feels her cheeks moisten once again from droplets of rain, only to realise, as the streams reaches her lips, that the salty tang to the water gave away a sign of weakness. There was no one around to see it, but that stopped none of the humiliation that flushed inside her.

From the corner of her eye, the eldest Black daughter noticed the steady illumination of private rooms around the castle: the inhabitants of the school were beginning to rise. Ever the daughter she was expected to be, she forced herself to stand and brush down her soaked cloak of excess droplets of water.

She would return to her the dormitories before any had the chance to see her bedraggled appearance, such was her reputation to uphold. Her pace from the lake was brisk, her haggard breath visible in front of her lips, and she was grateful for the warmth that the Entrance Hall offered her as she passed through the oaken front doors.

Even her light, gracious steps could be heard echoing as she passed through the narrow staircase that would lead her fastest to the Slytherin Common Room and, thus, to her chambers. "Dissipate," she murmured as she approached the painting, which concealed the entrance, and she passed through without slowing her pace.

None stirred in their beds as she selected her robes for the day ahead, and she swept out of the room as fast as she had entered. To her irritation, the bathrooms were occupied by a lower school pupil. "Leave." Her command was instantly obeyed, leaving her the space to wash in peace.

"Not long..." She whispered though not even she could hear the words against the flow of water from a showerhead. Yet it was a mantra that she could often be heard muttering to herself in reminder. "Not long now." It was what kept her going. Her time would come.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Debating the prospect of writing the odd chapter from dear ol' Voldy/Tom's point of view. I think I'll have to, if I really want to look at him in the way I soooo want to. He is, after all, awesome. I think I've come to the conclusion that I've never had more pity for a fictional character than I do Tom. His canon condition, we are told, is the result of something that was completely out of his control (he didn't even exist until the point of his conception, so how could he do anything about the love potion?)... And then he is hated by everyone for who he is. Because of it. Eurgh. Dumbledore's a bit of a dick sometimes.

* * *

It would be two months before the eldest of the Black cousins would find herself in the company of the rising Dark Lord again, upon visiting home for the weeks off from school during Easter. It had been with great reluctance that she had returned, however, with only a great willingness to please her father forcing her to grit her teeth and concede to leaving her sister unsupervised for the duration.

Cygnus Black, of course, had no knowledge of his second daughter's disgraceful misconduct with the filthy mudblood she was currently entertaining the fancies of. And Bellatrix planned to keep it that way, but it meant that she had no ready excuse to give to her father when he ordered her home, insistent as he was that her duty to the family required her presence to cement the Lestrange boy's affections.

To the Slytherin, she did not see how affection had anything to do with it. Rodolphus was a worthy match - his breeding, skill and appearance left little more for her to desire from a husband, and she knew that her fiancé was also similarly lucky in the match. The ultimate purpose of the match, of course, was one of political convenience, nothing more. They were to strengthen the pureblood lines and tighten the alliance.

Something her sister was evidently not as concerned with. Yet her father knew nothing… even though she was convinced that the Dark Lord knew the horrifying truth about her sister. He had not told anyone. Why hadn't he told anyone?

Shaking her head free of the disturbing thoughts, Bellatrix smiled as her aunt opened the front door to the Black Family Home, inviting her mother and her in. Barely a few paces inside, the tell-tale tumble of feet on the staircase was the warning the young witch needed to prepare for the incoming younger cousins. Or.. one of them. Regulus, ten years younger than she, was of correct mind, and would do well in the new world. The wall of aloof indifference that was commonplace amongst purebloods disintegrated for a moment of humouring the seven year old as she enveloped Regulus in a hug.

"Where's Dromeda?" came the expected, insolent demand of the older brother, who had not rushed forward to greet his cousin. Bella did nothing to hide the raising of her brow in silent rebuke of his tone. The nine year old had the grace to look ashamed.

"She has remained at Hogwarts for the holiday." A good thing, perhaps, Bellatrix mused as Sirius huffed and skulked back up the stairs, presumably to his room. Andromeda indulged the boy far too much… and Bella would be damned before she allowed her sister to drag the family name through the mud further by dragging another along with her.

"Regulus, please return to your studies," Walburga instructed her son before turning to her sister-in-law and niece. "We have a few old school friends visiting, if you would like to join us in the drawing room?"

Those friends, of course, included a select few of their older children, whom Bella knew. She was most surprised, though, to find Lord Voldemort counted among the classmates. Of course, rationally, she knew that he must have received a formal magical education and, despite his appearance, he would be a similar age to her parents.

"Tea, Miss Bella?" she heard the house elf ask, always eager to please, as she left her mother to mingle and approached her friends. "Thank you, Kreacher," was her soft reply, as her eyes drifted furtively over to Voldemort, only to quickly glance away when she found his own gaze on her.

"Bella," Rodolphus was the first of the group to greet her, and he took her extended hand to place a kiss on it. It was a clinical gesture, one made out of obligation, Bella decided, having never previously had another to compare it against. But now she did, and she found the touch surprisingly displeasing. Well trained in etiquette, however, she smile appropriately, allowing her future husband to believe what he wanted to believe.

* * *

"What about muggle London has you so captivated?" The soft, silky voice was unexpected, particularly directed at her, and it was a wonder that she did not end up wearing her newly boiled cup of tea. The voice continued, an amused edge entering his tone, "So much so that you are painfully unaware of your surroundings, it seems."

Dark orbs glanced up to meet darker ones and, for a moment, the schoolgirl forgot to breathe. "I-" she wondered if she imagined the fleeting curl of the corner of his lips. "The inane drudgery is confounding. I find it absurd to believe that these people know nothing of the power that walks among them every day. That they could be so blind, Master, Vo-"

"You are an intelligent, beautiful young woman of impeccable heritage, Miss Black," the man spoke softly, but even that was enough for her to fall silent instantly, as if subconsciously aware of his desire to interrupt her. "You are not - not will you ever be - considered a slave, thus I will not tolerate you debasing yourself enough to call me 'Master'."

His tone left no room for debate, though Bellatrix wondered silently how he could differentiate between 'Master' and 'My Lord'. As if aware of her thoughts, the elder tilted his head slightly, eyes boring into her own. "I have no desire to associate myself with weakness… a sentiment you might identify with?" She did. "Why then, would I desire anything less than capable individuals as allies to my cause, hmm?"

Dumbly, she nodded in agreement, turning back to stare out of the window. Only in turning away from his intent gaze did she discover the courage to ask the question she had been wondering for so long. "And would you find an ally in someone such as.. me?" Any of the natural confidence that she was renowned for had slipped away under the scrutiny of the Dark Lord.

When he did not answer, she forced herself to look over at him once more, only to find that the intense gaze was still there. She felt naked. Not the good kind of naked, like I'm-about-to-get-some-action. No, this was a rip-out-your-heart-and-piss-on-your-soul kind of naked. "Perhaps, Miss Black."


End file.
